Riding the Waves as They Ebb and They Flow
by Tangled4ever
Summary: As the Chief of Berk, Stoick leads a pretty simple life- protect the village, fight dragons, protect the village by fighting dragons. Great as he is, all can agree the mighty chief could use a little companionship, and a good woman in his life. They just never expected him to find said woman tangled in a dragon trap, in the middle of the ocean. Mermaid AU, late-MerMay fic!


**Guess who's late to the MerMay party! XD I had this idea around the middle of May, during the tail-end (pun intended) of my most recent uni semester. It's weird; after months of almost complete writer's block, I just sat on the train and pumped out the first two or three paragraphs in like 30 minutes. I don't know how I got this idea, but it just poured out of me (again, pun intended) and I'm **_**loving it!**_** :D**

**Obviously though, with all my classes and assessments, I didn't have anywhere near as much time to work on it as I wanted. So this is gonna have to be a Mer**_**July**_** fic. Luckily for me, as a friend said, mermaids never go out of style. (:**

**Last but certainly not least, this beautiful cover was drawn by the wonderful **_**chorchori**_** on DeviantArt (aka. **_**vittoriabarulli**_** on Instagram). I used to love her old Stalka comic and fan arts, and she had some time for commissions, so I figured 'why not see what she can do?', and I'm **_**so**_** happy with the result. **_**Definitely**_** go check her out. :) That's all for now; hope you like it!**

**.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.**

**Chapter 1 ~ This is the World Above**

For as long as he could remember, the sailors and fishermen of Berk – and the tribes around it – had told tales of mermaids; beautiful women with deep, glistening eyes, long, flowing hair that danced around them with every elegant movement, and strong, powerful tails that could propel them through the savage seas as fast as a Scauldron. Stories varied depending on who you talked to, and what island they were from. Some painted them as dainty, delicate creatures, brushing their hair until it shone like the sun, and singing as their pining eyes watched princes and chiefs from afar. Others described them as fearless warriors, as willing and capable of downing entire fleets as a pod of Thunderdrums. It was rare that people questioned such stories, but in the uncommon occurrence that someone asked the teller of those tales if they'd actually seen one, they could usually expect one of a small handful of answers:

_Um. Er. Well… Not exactly. Seen one? No…_

Of course there were also those who swore blind to their existence, Gobber for one. Supposedly, he'd fallen overboard as a boy while out fishing with his family. They'd searched – unsuccessfully – for days, then returned to Berk ready to prepare a funeral, only to find their son sleeping on the beach, safe and sound with not a scratch on him. In truth, Gobber had no memory of the event, but he was adamant that he'd been saved by the beauties of the deep. Either way, people thought little of his claims. This was a man who believed in trolls and Boneknappers, after all.

Stoick would never admit it, but he was a lot more tolerant of those stories than he was of his others. When every search for the Dragons' Nest meant sailing for weeks through an ocean teeming with the beasts, there was something oddly comforting in the idea that something _else_ – something less threatening and more magical – might be down there, watching over them from below.

"Yeah right! Stoick, what do you think?"

Stoick looked up, doing a quick surveillance of his surroundings. The Great Hall was packed. A number of homes had burned in the previous night's raid, so most families had opted for eating dinner out. His house had been spared (as usual), but he'd found the silence unsettling. Not that it made much difference _where_ he chose to eat; he'd barely touched his mutton, and his mug of ale was lukewarm.

"Sorry, Finn, what was that?"

Finn Hofferson rolled his eyes in amusement, then made a mocking gesture towards Spitelout. "Spite standing a chance with Phlegma; yes or no?"

Stoick snorted, setting his near-full tankard back down, "You'd really want to share a roof with Phlegma for the rest of your life?"

He and his comrades – the Hofferson brothers, Spitelout Jorgenson, Fisk Ingerman and Lugnut Thorston – all turned. Across the room, Phlegma the Fierce sat at a table with Bucket, her muscled arm locked as she wrestled him. A deep scowl plastered across her face, she slammed the man's hand against the table, a wave of cheers rising from the crowd around them.

Spitelout paled, subconsciously rubbing his own hand. "Fair point. Sigrid's prettier anyway…"

"Forget it, Jorgenson," Gunnolf Hofferson warned, giving the 'Lout' a pointed glare. "I'm seeing her father tomorrow."

Spitelout didn't respond, instead wisely shifting the focus away from himself. "Speaking of, Stoick, when are you going to get hitched?"

"Yeah, you're going grey, old man," Lugnut jeered, reaching across the table to yank a lone grey hair from the Chief's beard.

"Did you really just say that to the Chief?"

Stoick glanced over his shoulder. Gobber hobbled towards the table, his clothes and moustache still tarnished with soot from the forge. The plate in his hand was practically overflowing, much like the mug attachment on his left arm.

"Like you haven't said worse."

"Eh, point taken." Gobber shrugged, sitting next to his best friend. "He isn't wrong though."

Stoick picked at his cold food. Honestly they were exaggerated; true he had the odd grey hair here and there, but he wasn't even thirty yet. His own father had been fairly young when his fire red locks paled a dull silver. His father always blamed the stress of running the village, as well as the never-ending raids that had plagued their island since before Vikings even started living there, and now that the duties of being chief rested on his shoulders, he fully agreed with him.

"I'd like to see you lot run an _entire village_."

"Come on, you guys, leave the man alone," Fisk chimed in. "Stoick will marry when he's good and ready."

Stoick smiled in relief, opening his mouth to speak, before being interrupted by a certain Jorgenson.

"Hey, if all else fails, you can go find one of Gobber's pretty little _mermaids_," he teased, batting his eyelids as he pretended to twirl his 'long, flowing curls'.

Gobber slammed his tankard-hand against the table, which only stirred more laughter from Gunnolf and Lugnut. "I'm telling you, they're real!"

Finn scoffed, "Yeah, like trolls."

"And the Boneknapper."

The smithy shot his chief a burning glare. "_Yes!_"

"Alright then," Spitelout leaned into the table, finally regaining his composure, "if they're so real, why hasn't anyone ever _seen_ one?"

"I don't know. Maybe they're afraid of humans."

"Or they were eaten by sea dragons," Lugnut butted in. "I mean, they are fish, so…"

Stoick tensed, rattled by the mere mention of the beasts. "_Anyway…_ My marital status is none of your concern. First things first, we need to straighten out the damage from last night."

Gobber gave him a light punch with his good hand. "Ah, you're all work and no leisure. A little companionship might be good for you. Might take the edge off…"

Stoick's clenched fists struck the table. "_What edge!?_"

The silence was unanimous, as were the incredulous, _slightly_ frightened, looks on the faces of his fellow Vikings. The Chief sighed, relaxing his tight knuckles, and got to his feet. "Have a good night, lads."

"Night, Chief!"

"Good night, Stoick."

"Tell Gobber if you see any fish-women."

"Now see here, you lousy…"

Stoick glared over his shoulder, snuffing the retort, and continued out the hall. He thought he heard the debate spark up again just within earshot, but chose to ignore it. They were Vikings after all, and Vikings were known for 'stubbornness issues'…

* * *

There had been _worse_ raids. Surely there had; of that, he was certain. He just couldn't recall any…

It had started like any other – better than most, actually. The sun dipped below the horizon, the air grew cold, and a cavalcade of stars emerged from the cloudless sky. The tyrants had at least given them time to fill their bellies before the battle. He'd even been able to hang up his cloak for a few precious minutes. They'd arrived in their usual procession; Nadders first, Gronckles close behind, some Zipplebacks in the mix, and a few Nightmares bringing up the rear. Better yet, there hadn't been a single Night Fury for weeks.

He, along with many of his best warriors, had dared to believe the odds were in their favour. _They were fools…_

The beasts were unrelenting, and fought with much more vigour than normal. At the height of the battle, the whole village seemed to be ablaze, glowing red from the mix of heat, anger and spilt blood – both human and dragon.

Stoick heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes fixed on the docks below. He'd left the Great Hall a good two hours ago, but instead of heading home, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the burnt, splintered ruins of his village, before finally coming to rest on the cliff overlooking Berk's main harbour. As a boy, he'd spent much of his time on that cliff, waving to his father as he and his fleet set off – always in vein – to find the Dragons' Nest. But tonight, only the fishing ships sat tied to their moorings, battered and scorched from both the day's fishing trip and the previous night's raid. Most of their sailing ships had burned where they slept, and the few survivors had been sent to search for supplies. It wasn't too long ago that his father had handled such matters; as much as he'd worn the tell-tale signs of an overworked chief, he never once allowed the village to fall into complete disrepair.

"Evening, Chief."

An almost bashful voice dragged him from his thoughts. The burly, brown-eyed man stood behind him, his straw-coloured beard rustling in the evening breeze. A thick leather belt, heavy with various pouches, stretched across his stomach with difficulty, its buckle engraved with two circles and a line.

"Fisk." Stoick turned himself to face the man, his legs hanging over the edge of the cliff. "I didn't think you'd still be out."

"I've always been something of a night-owl." Fisk gingerly stepped towards him, gesturing to the cliff-side. "Couldn't sleep?"

Stoick motioned for him to sit, then propped his arm on his knee. "Haven't tried…"

Fisk felt the urge to say something, but pushed the thought aside as he sat next to his chief, instead focusing on the trashed ships bobbing in the water below. "The fishing boats have definitely looked better."

"Scauldrons," Stoick scowled. "I'm sending Mulch and Bucket out at first light to set up traps."

"Probably for the best," the blonde agreed. "How long do you think it'll take to rebuild?"

"A couple weeks, provided they don't come back."

Fisk shook his head. "I doubt it. Not with how much they made off with last night."

The farmers were hit hardest; no doubt the beasts were hoping to make an easy score. Thankfully, as bad as it was, they'd spotted their approach early enough to hide some of the livestock. The village had put up one heck of a fight, but not much else could be spared. By dawn, Gothi's hut was bursting at the seams, housing everything from cuts and burns to a few broken bones.

"At least we didn't have to set anyone to sea this time…"

Fisk could only nod in agreement. "How's Sven doing?"

Sven Björnberg was among the wounded. The dragons had found his flock within minutes. The farmer faced them head on (literally), weapon in one hand and a newborn lamb in the other. Despite his efforts, he was quickly overpowered, and by the time any other Vikings made it up there, he was lying on the ground, battered and bleeding, forced to listen to the screams of his wee ones as they were carried off into the smoky sky. They'd managed to save a handful of them – enough for Sven to rebuild the flock – but the incident had taken its toll on the man, far more than the eye could see.

Stoick hesitated before answering. "Hard to tell… I've sent word to his uncles, but so far, he hasn't said a word since before the battle."

"I heard other Sven's signed up for Dragon Training."

"Yeah. He'll be with Hoark, Starkard and Avery."

Fisk chuckled lightly, "Ack won't like that. I saw him charge headlong at the first dragon to bear its teeth at her last night. Didn't think she was his type, but hey, who am I to judge?"

Stoick winced, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. When had everyone started settling down, or at least started _looking_ to settle down? Gunnolf seeking to court Sigrid, Spitelout seeking to court- well, _anyone_, Ack apparently having eyes for Avery… He'd even noticed Lugnut taking a second glance at Hilde the other day, not to mention the three at least weddings he had to officiate in the coming weeks. It seemed like the only single ones left these days were those with no intention to marry at all… and himself…

His angst didn't go unnoticed. Fisk bit his lip, tossing up whether or not to speak. This was, after all, the Chief of the tribe. But then again, he _was_ the Chief; there probably weren't many men brave enough to ask him such personal questions. "I know it's really not my place to be asking this, but… are you okay, Chief? You were pretty quiet over dinner…"

"Just distracted, I guess…" Stoick mumbled, Spitelout's comments replaying in his mind. "Thank you, by the way, for sticking up for me back there."

The blonde waved a dismiss hand. "It was nothing. Those guys need to learn to keep their noses out of other people's business."

Stoick scoffed, "Ain't that the truth…"

The pair chuckled, before the Ingerman spoke up once more. "Listen, Stoick, I may not be much use in a battle, but I can keep a secret. If you ever need to just… _unload_ to someone without having to worry that they'll repeat it all the second they get their fill of mead, I'm happy to lend an ear."

"Thanks, Fisk. I appreciate that."

Fisk simply nodded, a comfortable silence falling between them. They stayed like that for quite some time, quietly watching the vacant horizon, before Stoick felt the need to speak.

"It's just- it's not that I don't _want_ to get married… I mean I'll admit, that house has just been getting quieter and quieter since Dad died…"

Fisk gave a brief 'hmm'. "I was wondering why you'd been avoiding it so much."

Stoick gave the man a questioning look, and he responded with a mere shrug, "I'm an observant man."

"Yes, well… I've met dozen of girls across dozens of islands, but they're all the same. I don't want some bland, run-of-the-mill Viking woman. I need something new, and exciting. Something _different_…"

Fisk tilted his head, running a hand over his beard, "Different how?"

"I don't even know anymore." Stoick sighed, wringing his hands in his lap. "One of the last things Dad ever said to me was that the Chieftain's wife should be more than just a capable housewife or a skilled warrior. She should be someone to help you bear the mantle; someone able to make you just… _forget_."

"Forget?"

Stoick held his hands up in defence. "Don't get me wrong- I love Berk, _and_ my people. But I watched my father long enough to know that being Chief is a _gruelling_ job. Up at the crack of dawn, out until late, little time to yourself. The last thing you want after a whole day of dealing with everyone else's problems is to walk through the door and be met with a woman who's constantly battle-ready."

The Chief clenched his hands into tight fists to prove his point, his wearing knuckles turning white from the pressure.

"I can see that…" Fisk nodded absently. "People around here seem to forget that being Chief doesn't make you any less human."

"When I was a boy, Dad had countless men offer up their daughters for a potential arrangement, and he turned away every one of them. He knew that while it may be all well and good to have a woman who could cook my meals or wield a sword, it's more important that she have a good hobby or an interest of some sort… Just _something_ we can talk about that isn't just work and fighting." Stoick made a random gesture with his hand, "Take Phlegma; decent cook, excellent fighter, but when it comes to 'at home' life…"

"Yeah, Phlegma doesn't exactly strike me as a 'calming presence'…"

Any other day, that _might_ have drawn a chuckle from the weary chief, but what little light-heartedness lingered in the air was crushed beneath the weight of his thoughts.

"For my mother, it was books. Sure, everyone _has_ to read the Dragon Manual, but Mum would read _anything_ she could get her hands on."

"I remember that…" Fisk mused. "She used to read to the wee ones in the survival bunker during the raids, right?"

"Every time…" Stoick couldn't help but smile at the memory of his mother – the great Chieftess – huddled in the corner with a herd of children and a fortress of books, cursing the 'fire-snorting reptiles' for their hatred of literature each time a blast struck the bunker hatch.

"There were a couple of weeks while she was carrying me that she was so sick she couldn't get out of bed. My father hated seeing her so miserable, so when the trader came, he purchased all the books he could carry…" he explained, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he continued. "Dad said they cost him his best axe but it was worth it for the way she smiled when he presented them to her. And on the worst days, when he came home tired and stressed and often a little cranky, he could just hang up his cloak, sit down to a hot meal, and listen to her ramble on about all the knowledge she'd picked up, and recount in the finest detail all the stories she'd found herself lost in… He told me those were the nights he liked best because, for at least a few hours, he could stop being a chief and just be… a husband."

Stoick leaned back against his palms, his gaze now trained to the stars above. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken so freely of his dear mother. He was only a boy when the gods took her, just barely old enough to realise what was happening. Despite the crushing weight of his grief, his father had fought to keep her alive in her son's soul. Though time had blurred the edges of those precious memories, he could still picture her in perfect clarity; still remembered the bright, beautiful woman who had brought such joy to his frazzled father. "_That's_ the kind of woman I want in my life."

"Sounds like she was really something…"

"Aye…" Stoick's smile faltered. "I'd be lucky to find a woman half as good as she was."

In spite of himself, Fisk lay a supportive hand of the Chief's shoulder. "Don't lose heart, Stoick. Sometimes these things just take time. Take one of my uncles; he'd all but given up on settling down, then one day, just short of his 40th year, he wrote home to tell us he'd been shipwrecked and met the girl of his dreams. The family thought he'd gone mad because the lass was only in her mid-twenties, but first time he brought her the visit, everyone could tell they were crazy about each other."

Stoick smiled half-heartedly. "Unfortunately, I'm needed here. Kind of limits my options…"

"You never know. She might surprise you when you least expect it."

"I suppose you're right. But, then again, the longer I wait to get married, the sooner people will start nagging us to start a family." Stoick rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of want to just enjoy being a husband for a little while…"

"Have patience, Chief. When you find her, you'll know."

"You think so?"

"Of course," Fisk smiled reassuringly, "and you won't have to go searching the ocean for her either."

"Much to Spitelout's dismay."

"Or Gobber's, depending on how you look at it."

Stoick looked past the docks to the open sea, listening to the wind at it whistled over the waves. Moonlight glistened off the whitecaps as they broke over the vast, midnight waters. Had he actually finished his ale at dinner, he could be forgiven for mistaking them for surfacing fins.

"I'd never heard the end of it from the guys if they heard me asking this, but… Have you ever, I don't know…"

Fisk smirked at his chief's expense. "Seen a mermaid?"

"Sailing's in an Ingerman's blood, right? Chances are if _anyone's_ seen one, it would be someone in your family."

"I thought I did, once… I think I was 14, maybe 15, and I was out fishing with my father and my uncles." Fisk corrected himself, "Well, _they_ were fishing. I was busy looking round with my spyglass."

Stoick cracked a smile as the man continued.

"Anyway, I was leaning over the edge to get a better look at one of the sea stacks, and when I looked down, I could have sworn I saw this _face_ looking back at me." The blonde shuddered a little. "Scared the living daylights out of me, _and_ I dropped my spyglass. When I looked down again, there was a split second I thought I saw a tail swimming away. But, looking back, it was probably just a school of fish."

"If only mermaids were the worst of our problems."

"Says a man who clearly hasn't heard some of the more _lethal_ stories about them."

"Really? Could a _mermaid_ burn Berk to the ground?"

"Okay, I'll give you that one." Fisk yawned and stood up. "All this talk about being on boats is making me drowsy. I think I'd better go turn in."

"You go ahead, Fisk. I'm going to stay here a little longer…"

The man's lips curved into an all-too-knowing smile, an odd mixture of amusement and sympathy. "See you in morning."

"Good night, Fisk." Stoick turned back to the docks, listening as the echo of the fisherman's heavy footsteps got quieter and quieter. Even in the darkness, he could see the waves as they ebbed and they flowed, stretching into the great unknown.

* * *

_The floorboards creaked under his weight; nowhere near as much as when his father walked on them, but enough to make him wince at every step. The night air felt faintly warm against his skin, most likely emitted from the main room below, and the only audible sound was that of the distant waves lapping at Berk's shores._

_Young Stoick crept out of his room, but stopped short at the top of the log staircase. The hearth was lit and burning – that perfect balance between glowing embers and a roaring flame. His mother, as she often was in these late hours, was nestled in his father's chieftain's throne, his cape draped over her outstretched legs and her nose lost in her newest book. Across the room, his father sat at the dinner table, mulling over the piles of scrolls and stacks of paper on either side of him._

_Stoick glanced past his father to the dark, vacant kitchen, contemplating how to sneak in and out without being spotted. He hadn't expected them to still be up, which complicated his plans to say the least._

_His father groaned loudly, and Stoick froze in place, wide eyes locked on the man. Slouching forward in his seat, the Chief haphazardly tossed his pencil onto the table, then buried his head in his calloused palms._

_His mother glanced up from the page, peering at her husband over the edge of her book. She watched him for a long moment, studying his beaten-down form, as if debating whether words would help or hinder his current state._

_Sensing the woman's gaze, the Chief sat up. He smiled a little at meeting her eye, his voice softer than his son knew possible…_

"_Where are you?"_

_Stoick raised an eyebrow, and pressed himself closer to the cold, wooden stair. Wasn't she right in front of him? Of course she was. If she wasn't, he wouldn't be able to ask her that. So why did he feel the need to ask her?_

_His mother smiled at the question, clearly knowing something he didn't, and set the book in her lap. "On a boat. A great Viking ship cutting north across a glistening ocean, teeming with life and mystery, in search of new horizons and uncharted lands…"_

_His father chuckled, getting up from the table, and casually strode towards her. "Anything to report?"_

_Her smile widened and she settled further into his chair, her hand running down the page as she read. "'A flash of colour tore through the water, too fast and too fleeting to be either fish or dragon. It circled the ship, sunlight catching at its bright red scales, then leapt from the waves with unparalleled grace, the wind gathering her auburn hair before she disappeared beneath the surf…'."_

_The mighty chief stooped down, placing a kiss on his wife's cheek. She smiled at the touch, turning to face him, then absently held up her book. "You know, if you'd be more comfortable in your chair, I could always take this to our room…"_

"_No, you're fine," he insisted, getting down on one knee. "I think I've done enough work for one night…"_

_A smile tugged at her lips, her green eyes glistening in amusement. "Hm, seems I've finally hammered some sense into you."_

"_Well, it's hard not to listen to a woman who cooks as well as you do."_

"_Oh, is that all I'm good for?"_

"_Of course not. You also gave me a fine son."_

"_He does take after his father, so I can't take all the credit for that…"_

_Stoick found himself smiling at their words. His father rose a hand to his mother's cheek, gently cupping her face, then pressed his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips, closing the book over her hand, and kissed him back, lingering there for as long as possible._

"_I love you, Rosa."_

_Even in the pale firelight, Stoick saw his mother blush. Nevertheless, her eyes shone with mischief, and her smile arched into a relaxed smirk. "You'd better. I haven't put up with your snoring for the last ten years for you to suddenly decide otherwise."_

_The Chief laughed; a full, hearty laugh that rumbled from his broad, brawny chest. "Odin forbid our son marry a woman with your quick tongue."_

_His mother giggled at the jest, opening her book once more. "Well, if he does, we can blame your strange taste in women. Now are you going to join me or not?"_

_His father didn't speak. He simply smiled as he grabbed a chair from the table and dragged it to the fireside._

_Stoick watched as she smiled at him, before she returned to her book, reading out loud this time. His mother's voice lulled him back to the depths of sleep, and there he stayed until morning, the sweet taste of nicked pastries long forgotten. Not even his father's bulging arms carrying him back to his bed could pull him from his dreams, where Vikings sailed on the ocean surface, and mermaids danced in the bottomless blue._

**.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.**

**First chapter's done! :D So yeah, Stoick's mother was basically Belle… It was not my intention; it just happened… XD I also spent a **_**lot**_** of time listening to the Little Mermaid on Broadway soundtrack while writing this, so expect there to be many, **_**many**_** references.**

**This is kind of a first for me because, for once, I have no idea where I'm going with this. Usually when I write a story – be it fanfiction or original work – I have a basic idea of all the main plot-points throughout the story, even if I don't yet know how I'm going to tie them all together. I have a couple ideas for later on, but on the whole I don't really have a plan in mind for this one. But hey, that's not a bad thing. I'll figure it out as I go. (:**

**No idea when or how regularly I'll be updating this. Lots to do before next semester, and I **_**really should**_** go back and finish some of my older fanfics, or at least clear some of my oneshots out of the way. Either way, let me know what you think. Next chapter features our beloved mermaid-Valkyrie, so be sure to follow this fic if you want to see more. As always, I look forward to reading your comments. Love you guys! :)**


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